The Backwall

The old coaxial cable lay coiled on my floor like a dead snake, a relic from when Maya and I spent whole weekends gaming and streaming trash TV. Now she was too busy for that. Too busy for me.

"Sorry, can't today," she'd texted. "Padel with the squad."

Padel. The sport that had eaten my best friend alive.

I stared at my phone. Three days since we'd actually hung out. A whole week of being ghosted for a racquet sport that looked like tennis scaled down for people with commitment issues.

The worst part? I'd never even seen her play.

Friday afternoon found me at the rec center, leaning against the chain-link fence beside the padel courts. The thwack-thwack of balls against glass walls echoed through the park.

Then I saw her.

Maya wasn't just playing — she was *glowing*. Her laugh carried across the court, bright and unburdened. She smashed a volley and her teammates cheered. She looked lighter than I'd seen her in months.

And I was the jerk lurking in the bushes, mad that she'd found something that made her happy.

"Yo, mystery creature!" She spotted me and jogged over, sweating and grinning. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "Being weird?"

"Correct." She wiped her forehead with her wrist. "You want to try?"

"I absolutely do not."

"Come on. I'll go easy on you."

Ten minutes later, I wasWHIFFING balls and tripping over my own feet while Maya cackled. I was terrible. It was humiliating. I was having the time of my life.

"You're a disaster," she said, tossing me a water bottle. "But you're my favorite disaster."

"Still friends?"

"Still friends," she promised. "But we're doing this again next week."

I groaned. But as we walked home, the cable on my bedroom floor didn't feel so sad anymore. Some things change. But the good stuff? That stays.